Broken
by PaperSunflower
Summary: Neville and Draco had a relationship during school, but were broken apart because of the war. Now, after Voldemort has been defeated, they are reunited, but both of them have changed in their time apart. Long oneshot. [SLASH]


Draco. 

_It's been four years_, I thought, staring disbelievingly down at the message on the grimy parchment clutched in my hand. _Four years._ Four years since he disappeared from my life, leaving a gaping hole in his wake. Four years since the day we graduated from Hogwarts. Since the day Draco appeared without warning outside my dorm, someplace he had never before ventured. I let my eyes fall shut, allowing the memories to flood back into my mind...

_"Hello, Longbottom," a familiar drawl reaches my ears. I look up from where I'm seated on the bed, and there he is, leaning against the wall just inside my dorm room. His pretty face is molded into that familiar bored expression, but his tone is soft and husky instead of scornful or mocking. I stare at him, this tall, radiant god who's studying me with something that looks vaguely like fear in his eyes, and I think: Why would Draco Malfoy be afraid?_

_He rushes forward, tipping my head back and kissing me roughly. At least this is familiar. I instinctively open my mouth to his, allowing his tongue to slide between my parted lips. My eyes flutter shut as I savor the sweet taste of Draco's mouth, even as his teeth bite painfully into my lower lip._

_He draws back, leaving me aching for more. Cool gray eyes study my face before he murmurs "Goodbye." No 'I love you' or anything like that. Not that I expect it. Draco will never admit that he loves me, so I have to find solace in the silent affection I think I can see in his eyes. Abruptly, he turns away from me and walks to the door, glancing over his shoulder at me one last time. It's only as he's turning into the corridor that I see edge of a swirling black tattoo peeking out from under the hem of his sleeve. My breath catches in my throat. The Dark Mark._

I sighed, pushing the hair away from my forehead. _I thought he was dead_. I scanned the note a second time. For _years_, I had thought he was dead. I had no reason to think that he wasn't. All the other Death Eaters had perished three years ago, when Lord Voldemort was defeated. It had killed me inside to give him up for dead. It had made life scarcely worth living, since it seemed that my life since Hogwarts had been spent waiting for him to come back to me. Something deep inside me had died, thinking Draco was gone. Now a tiny thread of hope was rising in my chest.

I glanced down at the note again, making sure I had everything right. I could feel adrenaline seeping into my veins, and the beat of my heart drummed a tattoo into my mind. _Alive, alive, alive._

I shoved the chair I had been sitting in back, and it scraped angrily against the floor. Draco's scribbled letter was shoved into the pocket of my robes as I hurried out of my study, knocking over a pile of books as I did so. There were books stacked in piles all over the house, though I hadn't read any of them. I had started buying them when I thought Draco was dead. It was something to do, something to fill the void in my life, if only slightly. I hastened past more piles of lonely, dusty books. My emotional baggage in physical form.

Hogsmeade. That's where the note said he was. I hadn't been to Hogsmeade since I had left school, and, from what I had heard, it wasn't the place it used to be. The war had changed it, just like it had changed everything else in my world.

I took a deep breath, preparing myself to apparate. I had passed the apparation test, but since then I had experienced several rather uncomfortable - and embarassing - incidents of splinching. Good ol' Neville. Never could do anything right. I closed my eyes, pictured Hogsmeade, and with a pop, I found myself being squeezed uncomfortably through a tiny rubber tube.

Then I was there.

But the Hogsmeade I had pictured a few moments before was nothing like the Hogsmeade I saw before my eyes.

The wooden sign above the door to the Three Broomsticks was hanging at an odd angle, and one of the windows was broken. The intact windowpanes were streaked with grime, and a few boards spanned the doorway, which lacked a door. The streets were littered with discarded bottles and lonely, forgotten pages of newsprint. Dead leaves scooted along the ground, ushered on by the chilly November breeze. Draco had picked a good place to meet me - it didn't look like anyone visited anymore.

I ducked under the boards and into what had once been the Three Broomsticks. Most of the tables were turned over, or missing, and dust and cobwebs coated the interior. Empty glasses lay shattered on the floor. It was inherently strange, being here after so many years. The well-lit, noisy pub of my Hogwarts days was still fresh in my mind as I scanned the interior of the dilapidated ruin. The dust made me sneeze.

"Nev...ille...?" A vague, hoarse voice split the stale air, drawing my attention to a dismally dark corner of the pub. There, a figure was slumped against the wall.

"D-Draco?" I said, my voice shaking as I saw the state he was in. This person looked nothing like the Draco of my school days.

_I hear his voice, loud in the quietness of the library, before I see him. I peek over the top of the Herbology book I'm reading, trying to catch a glimpse of him without his noticing. His face has that characteristic smirk on it as he laughs at something a Slytherin girl has just said. I can't help but be a little jealous of her - I wish Draco Malfoy would look at me that way. His steel gray eyes flicker up, into my face, and he holds my gaze for a moment before dropping his head back to look at the girl. I can feel my face grow hot, embarassed that he caught me looking, but I still can't stop myself. My eyes travel over his slicked-back, platinum blonde hair, down his pale throat. He is fundamentally femenine in form, though he would probably rip my throat out if he knew what I was thinking. He's elegant in a way I have never seen in someone else. A gentle hourglass torso, long, graceful fingers. But my eyes keep returning to those eyes. Silver-gray, like metal, or the sky before a storm. I long for the caress of his glance on my face again, if only for a moment..._

The Draco sagging against the dirty wall of the Three Broomsticks didn't resemble the Draco of my memories at all.

His hair was greasy, and flopped over his face. Dirt was smeared across his pale skin, and while he had been lean in our Hogwarts days, he was now thoroughly emaciated. His aristocratic cheekbones strained against the skin of his face, and his clothes were baggy. A dirty button-up shirt hung on him as on a coat hanger. I felt tears prick at my sinuses as I saw him. His wide gray eyes stared dully at the space above my head.

"Thank... thank God..." he struggled to form a sentence, and his lip split as he spoke. Those lips that had been pressed against mine so many times, now chapped and dusty. A ruby-red trickle of blood crept down his chin. "Thank God... you came, Neville." His metallic eyes welled up with relieved tears. I knelt down to embrace him, even though he was dirty.

"Of course I came," I murmured soothingly into his ear. "I'll always come for you." He collapsed weakly against my shoulder, soft, choked sobs trickling from his mouth.

"Oh God, Neville," he managed, his voice thick with emotion. I shushed him, and wrapped my arms around his skinny chest, pulling him to his feet. To my horror, he wasn't strong enough to stand on his own, so I pulled his arm over my shoulders, supporting his weight for just a moment before I disapparated.

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The next few weeks were pure agony, for both of us. Draco lay in bed, unconscious for the most part, as I nursed him back to health. It was like a stake to the heart every time I heard him cry out in his sleep, each time he whimpered. The inky black tattoo on his forearm would constrict every once in a while, causing him to shriek and writhe, tears creeping out from beneath his pale lashes. I couldn't comfort him, because he fought every time I touched him, so I had to watch him from a chair next to the bed, catching a few minutes of upright sleep here and there. Simply watching as he thrashed in terror during a nightmare, or cried in his sleep.

When he came to, I would feed him broth with a spoon, and talk to him softly. The things he said to me were all along the lines of "thank you," and he never quite met my eyes. I wasn't sure if he was ashamed of his condition, or too out of it to really know I was there, let alone who I was.

All of these things were perplexing, but the most troubling thing of all was that none of the Draco I knew was coming through. The Draco I remembered would be drawling an insult, refusing my help, _something_. This new Draco didn't have half the vigor my Draco had had. I kept hoping, praying that it was just because of his condition. That he would be his usual self when he was better. That at least one thing hadn't been changed by the war.

But he didn't change back. He remained listless, showing no enthusiasm for anything, and no kind of emotion. Even when he was well enough to get out of bed and walk around, he didn't change in that respect. And it killed me inside.

I continued buying books I would never read.

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The first day he actually spoke to me, other than to ask for something or thank me, was a particularly chilly day in December. I was sitting in my study, dull gray light spilling over my desk as I watched the pounding rain streak past the window, when I heard a quiet noise. When I turned around, he was there, standing uncertainly in the doorframe, looking at the floor instead of me.

_He never looks at me._

He stood there without speaking, studying the wood of the floor for several moments before I broke the silence.

"Hello, Draco," He nodded vaguely, staring at the couch. "Would you like to sit down?" I asked, misery coiling in my chest at his dull expression. He sat, facing me but not acknowledging my presence. The thing he asked me next was very abrupt and unexpected.

"So...do you..." he choked slightly on the words, and I had to wait for him to gain control of his voice. I was used to him having trouble speaking. His next words were so soft they were almost a whisper. "Have you... met anyone else?" I was slightly shocked at the question. Of all the things to be on his mind. He hadn't seemed to value our relationship at all back when we were in Hogwarts, so why was he asking this? Why would he care? I thought about his question for a moment. Yes, I had considered going out with another guy - if "going out" was the right term for what Draco and I had been doing - since Draco had disappeared. But I had quickly come to realize that no man could compare to Draco. No one could be as beautiful, as perfect. There was no one who could make my breath catch in my throat and my heart pound like he could. No one.

I shook my head in response, silently mourning the loss of what Draco and I had had - which looked like it could never be recovered. A memory washed over me, unbidden as usual. This one was from a Hogwarts dance, though I couldn't remember the occasion. It stands out in my mind as the first time I acknowledged how I felt about him - the first time I truly admitted to myself that I was falling for the Prince of Slytherin.

_The noise pounds in my ears, a combination of loud music, students laughing and talking, and the beating of my heart in my ears. I'm standing on the fringe of the mass of dancing teenagers, just standing here, by myself. I can't dance very well, and no one wants to dance with me anyway. I'd just step on their feet. But, for now, I am somewhat content just to watch others, gracefully and erotically moving their bodies against one another. I admit that I'm slightly envious. What comes so effortlessly to them has eluded me all my life._

_And then he's here, swinging his hips with his arms flung above his head, more relaxed than I've ever seen him before. His hair is wild, untamed by gel, and he's so radiantly beautiful that I can hardly breathe. I wonder how I can exist in the same room as this god. His white button-up shirt and blazer hang open, revealing a gently glistening chest. Before I can gain control of my breathing he's right next to me, hand resting lightly on my waist, the other grasping my hand. Now I really can't breathe. Draco Malfoy is touching me. Acknowledging me in a way I've never been acknowledged before. He lifts my arm up and twirls me around, grinning playfully. I stumble a bit, but he catches me in his strong arms, and every place his skin touches mine is burning. I feel my face growing red, but he just laughs like it's all a game. Then he's gone, and I'm left alone, longing for his touch and his smile, right here next to me. I feel like I can't exist without him, can't go on the same way I've been, because, I realize, I'm falling in love with Draco Malfoy._

"No, I haven't met anyone," I said, shaking my head to make it concrete. I lifted my gaze to smile halfheartedly at him. "To tell you the truth, no one could really measure up to you," I got up, pushing the chair back and knocking over a pile of books. I let them stay where they were, strewn all over the hardwood floor, as I walked over to a bookshelf near Draco, pretending that I was looking for something. He stood too, his face strained and nervous, like he'd be punished for sitting if I wasn't. I turned, looking him over, struck by how small he seemed. I mean, he had always been petite, but he made up for it with his attitude. Without that spark he seemed tiny.

My hand rose unprompted, the back of it running over the pale skin of his jaw. The warmth of it was enough to make me want him again, make me long for the intimacy he and I had shared so many years before. Impulsively, I stepped forward, placing my hands gently on his back. His shoulderblades were delicate, like wings under the too-big shirt I had lent him. He lifted his head, placing his lips softly on mine. I automatically moved to deepen the kiss, my hand rising from his back to entwine themselves in his pale hair. He stiffened, and pulled back abruptly, silver eyes closing as he turned his head to the side.

"Nev... I'm sorry," He choked, a sob barely contained. I instinctively moved to comfort him, longing to pull him to my chest and let him cry into my shirt, but he stepped back. "I'm sorry," he said again, a tear crawling from beneath his pale lashes and down his cheek. His quiet sobs penetrated the still air as I left the room. I had to close my eyes against my own tears, furious at the unfairness of the war that had turned my vibrant Draco into this anguished shell. I remembered all too well a time when _he_ was the aggressive one, the one to ask _me_for more.

_Draco's teeth press painfully against my lips as he shoves me back onto the bed, straddling my hips and working furiously at the buttons of my shirt. I moan into his mouth as he grinds his erection into mine. He pushes the material back off my shoulders, and I long for the rest of my clothing to be gone as well, even though I know he's only using me for his own pleasure. Why else would someone like him be here with someone like me? But I'm able to forget that as his lips travel down my face to my neck, biting and sucking at the tender flesh there. I moan, my hips involuntarily bucking as his hand slips between my thighs._

_"Draco," I gasp, my breathing shallow. "Oh God," He bites the delicate skin of my collarbone hard, making me yelp. I should've known better. He doesn't like it when I speak. I guess it must remind him who it is he's straddling. He struggles with the zipper of my pants, mouth traveling up to meet with mine. Every point of contact between us is scorching. His tongue is in my mouth again when he manages to push down my boxers, revealing my painfully hard member. His fingers trail lightly over its length, making me pant and moan. Before I know what's happening, his pants are gone too, and our naked bodies are grinding against each other, the friction almost unbearable. The rest is a blur of passionate lust: my ankles being propped up on his shoulders, Draco filling me without any preparation or lubricant of any kind, his hoarse gasp as he comes inside me._

_Then he's gone, ghosting out of the dorm like he was never there, leaving me weak and sweaty on some anonymous Slytherin boy's bed, unfulfilled. He's only concerned with himself; I have to be content with pleasuring myself after he's gone, imagining his face as I caress myself. Even though I long to be near him, every time we do this I hate myself a little bit more. I love Draco, but he'll never love me, and I let him have his way with me anyway._

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He slipped quietly into the kitchen, pale eyes wide and nervous, and, as usual,not meeting my gaze. I was chopping vegetables at the time - by hand because I didn't like to mix magic and sharp objects - and I set down the knife to look at him as he seated himself at my kitchen table. As he studied the swirls on the wooden tabletop, I thought about how much things had changed since we last saw each other. How much we had changed.

"It's strange," I said, looking at him. "I used to be the weak one, and you were strong. Now it's the other way around." If he had been his old self I wouldn't have voiced my thoughts; he would have been furious at even the insinuation that he was weak. But now it didn't matter; maybe I was even hoping to antagonize him into showing a proper Draco emotion. Instead, he laughed bitterly and said:

"Neville, you were _always_ the strong one." I blinked in surprise. Me? Strong?

"What... What do you mean?" I stumbled on the words. He hesitated, still looking at the table instead of me.

"W-well..." He stuttered, porcelian face flushing red. "You admitted... You know... That you... loved me. I was never strong enough to do that." I was shocked into silence. Was that a confession? It was something I had waited for so many years to hear. My chest constricted, and I wished he had said that before, back when he was the Draco I loved back. I recalled the first time I managed to tell him I loved him. It was right after we had had sex - though I was still unfulfilled -and we were lying stretched out across Draco's bed...

_Beads of sweat glisten on our bodies as we pant. Tears are pricking at my eyes and I hurt so bad. Draco has fucked me so hard it feels like I'll split in two. Long red scratch marks span the skin on my back, and I hurt all over, but I'm still so grateful for this time, for Draco's pale presence beside me._

_"Draco," I murmur breathlessly, "God, Draco, I love you so much." He sits up, body tensing, and I wince at the violent look in his cool gray eyes. It was a stupid thing to say, and I know it. He draws his hand back and slaps me hard across the face. A soft whimper leaps from my mouth as I lay my hand over my stinging cheek._

_"No you don't," he hisses. Before I can think to stop myself, I protest._

_"Yes, I do. Draco I love you more than anything." The words spill out of my mouth unbidden, condemning me. Draco's glaring at me with wild eyes. I gasp as he grabs a fistful of my hair and jerks my face back. He brings his mouth to my ear, not releasing his brutal hold._

_"Well that's just too bad, Longbottom," he says cruelly as I whimper in pain and terror. His next words spit into my ear, biting mercilessly into me. "Because I'll never love you back."_

You'd think I would have been pleased with the change in Draco. It should have made me happy that he was no longer ruthless and cruel, that he didn't abuse me anymore. But I wasn't happy. Because the young man who sat in front of me staring listlessly at the floor looked like Draco, but he wasn't the boy I confessed my love to all those years ago. I could feel an angry dragon in my chest, furious at the stupid, pointless war that took that boy away from me. The only person I had ever really cared about, gone forever. Scalding tears formed in my eyes as I wished with all my being that I didn't still love him in spite of everything.

Through the blur of my infant tears I could see his eyes widen. Draco looked at me for the first time since Hogwarts.

"Neville... Why...?" I slammed a fist against the counter top, making the vegetables jump. I was surprised at the force of my rage.

"_Because_!" My voice was raw and strangled. Anguished. "Because of the stupid war and that mark on your arm and... And _you_!" His eyes expanded further at the ferocity in my tone as I glared at him accusingly. "You... You've changed," I paused, my voice calming slightly. My next words were barely audible "You're not the boy I love anymore." He blinked, confused, then he realized what I had said. Raw hurt seeped into his expression. He averted his eyes, emotion draining from his face and leaving, once again, an empty shell.

"Sorry, Neville," he said softly, and instantly my fury evaporated, and I realized my mistake.

"Gods, Draco," I murmured, moving to hug him, "I didn't mean - " He shrugged my embrace away and I thought my heart would shatter.I let my arms fall to my sides, empty.

"You're right, Neville. I _am_ different," He stared pointedly at the floor, a hard edge in his voice. "I guess I was stupid to hope... To think you would still want me." _I do still want you!_ my mind shrieked, and I realized it was true: no matter what happened, I would always want Draco Malfoy. That's what hurt the most: knowing that no matter what, I wouldn't be able to stop loving him. _It's you who doesn't want me - who's never wanted me!_ But my mouth wasn't cooperating with my thoughts, and I simply stared as he pushed himself off the chair and walked out of the room. His quiet, ill-concealed sobs carried down the hall.

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For a while after that incident, Draco and I exchanged no words. It was lonely knowing that Draco was right there in the room with me, silent and not meeting my eyes. I never left the house either, because I didn't want to leave him alone, and naturally, he couldn't go anywhere with me. Everyone knew Draco's face, and if it was spotted he would be taken away from me again. Thrown into Azkaban. That I couldn't bear. So I spent my time mulling over his words. _I guess I was stupid to hope you'd still want me._ If he wanted me, then why did he push me away every time I lifted my hand to touch him?

Every night I woke up, feeling cold. Wishing to have him next to me, wanting to wake up in the morning with him breathing beside me. Warm and pale and perfect.

Every day the ache in my chest grew even more unbearable, my arms feeling empty without his body to fill them.

Until one day, I walked into his room, and I couldn't hold back anymore.

He was half naked, with baggy black jeans hanging loosely on his hips, the fly undone, revealing his plaid boxers. The pale flesh of his chest was bare, and glistening from the shower he had just taken. Lean muscle and jutting hipbones showed from underneath his skin. He was drying his hair, arms flung above his head as he towelled the excess water off. I could almost believe that he hadn't changed, that he would smirk at me when he saw me, and say, _Enjoying the show, Longbottom?_ Instead, when he noticed I was there he just stared at me with a far-off look in his steely eyes.

I stepped forward, chasing away the distance between our bodies. His breathing became shallow and slightly ragged from the simple gesture. I lifted my hand, pulling him towards me by the base of his head, and kissed him softly. His eyelashes fluttered against my face as he made a low noise in the back of his throat.

Then he was stiffening again, drawing back, looking away. He tensed even further, the tendons of his neck straining. Suddenly he slammed his knuckles against the wall as tears pooled in his perfect gray eyes.

"Dammit!" he said through gritted teeth, the tension in his shoulders remaining. "This wasn't supposed to happen!" I remained silent, awed, not wanting to break this moment. It was the first spunk he had shown since I had brought him home with me. He looked at me, agony in his expression as a tear rolled down his face. "I want it so bad, Neville," he said hoarsely. "I want to give you what you want. I want to be with you, Nev, but I..." He turned his head away, rage quickly boiling down to sorrow. "The things I've done... I'm scum. I'm not worthy of you." I remained silent, words sticking in my throat as he ducked his head, rushing out the door and past me. I listened to his muted footsteps and strangled sobs in the hallway.

And I decided that I wasn't going to let him cry all alone ever again.

I raced after him, grabbing at his arm. When he tried to shake me off I whipped him around and slammed him against the wall.

"Damn it, Draco," I said, my voice quiet but thick with emotion. "None of that matters."

I leaned forward, brushing my lips over his. He shuddered at the touch, and I remembered all the times he had pushed me up against the wall, ravaging me in between classes. He tentatively brought his mouth to mine, bringing us together and sliding his tongue into my mouth like the Draco I remembered. I brought my hands up, resting them on his damp, bare chest, and his breath hitched.

Then somehow we were on my bed, on our sides and facing each other, our tongues dancing and our breathing heavy. Clothes had been discarded in the hallway, and now our bare bodies were grinding against each other, the friction almost unbearably delicious. We came together, clutching each other and gasping. Later I realized it was the first time I had come in his presence. Back in our school days he had always left before I was fully satisfied.

We drifted off like that, locked in an embrace, skin on skin, warmth on warmth.

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I woke up in the middle of the night. It wasn't sudden; it was slow and natural, a gentle pull into reality, as though it were morning. I lay there with Draco's warm body pressed against mine, staring at the inky darkness of the cieling, thinking.

No one had ever been there for me. Not even the people who were supposed to be closest to me cared. My parents were unresponsive most of my life, and Gran never really seemed to _truly_ love me.Throughout my life I've imagined what life would have been like if my parents had been there. Maybe they would have doted on their only son, Neville, thought I was special even when the rest of the world didn't.

But my parents hadn't been there. They'd been lying in St. Mungo's, barely even knowing who I was. Then they died, one after the other. It occurred to me that the man cuddled up next to me on the bed had worked for the man who'd done that to them, but I couldn't bring myself to care. My life hadn't been diverted from its lonely, melancholy march until Draco. It was the first time I had ever really cared for someone, beyond the aloof concern people have for strangers.

That's why I still loved him, even if he did horrible things to me when we were in school. Even if he had changed. I would always miss the heated, desperate passion of our Hogwarts days, and, of course, the person Draco had once been. But here, lying in his arms with his breath rhythmically ruffling my hair, I could believe that we could maybe get some of that back.

Or maybe something even better.

* * *

**A/N:**There it is, hope you liked it! Reviews are loved, as is conscructive criticism. And yes, I know Neville and Draco are OoC, but there's a reason for it, at least. They aren't OoC in the flashbacks! (I hope the whole past-in-present-tense wasn't _too_ confusing. XD)

I feel like the ending was kinda weak, so tell me what you think about that when you review.


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